Blue Eyes
by dragonFELL
Summary: She made a promise to never feel fear - and she intends to keep things that way. For Hannah- Queen of Rawring.


Disclaimer: Fayy (celestial feathers) and I do not own Warriors.

**AN: Late make-up Secret Santa one-shot for Hannah- Queen of Rawring of LawlClan, written by dragonFELL and celestial feathers. Her prompts:  
><strong>

**1. Blue eyes**  
><strong>2. <strong>_**Side by side or miles apart, dear friends are always close to the heart.**_  
><strong>3. <strong>_**However long the night, the dawn will break.**_

**lolandFayyissnoringbackathome. But she** **hopes you like it ****all the same. - Fayy  
><strong>

**A thousand dishonors on me, my family, and my cow for the ridiculous lateness of this one-shot. I like, just... yeah. Hopefully this does not disappoint; I even had to make an active effort to keep the spelling according to British English so that your Australian eyes are not besmirched by the horrors of American spelling. But most importantly:**

**A merry belated Christmas/New Years to you, Hannah. - Dragon**

* * *

><p><strong>Blue Eyes<strong>

_It was a vigil with no bodies. Heads were bowed in mourning, but no physical evidence of the deceased remained to acknowledge the grief of the living. The Clan could only hope that the dead watched over from StarClan, alive and happy, while their bodies lay cold in the battlefield from where they could not be retrieved._

_She couldn't understand any of it. No matter how many times her brother or another queen tried explaining it to her, she couldn't see it. Why couldn't their parents come back? "They promised!" she insisted, her voice shrill to the ear. "_He _promised!"_

_He _had _promised. Their father had sworn that he would return, and take care of them both. He wouldn't lie to her. So why were these cats trying to say otherwise? That promise was the last thing she had of their parents—the last hope she clung to in an effort to not forget. To not move on._

"_It's okay, Heatherkit," he had whispered in her ear as the Clan readied to move out. "I'll be back soon and I'll take care of you until you're big and strong like me." He had risen up to his full height—and to a kit, he was a towering giant. "Just promise me one thing, Heatherkit."_

"_What is it?"_

"_Don't be afraid, no matter what." _

_And he left, leaving his only daughter staring after his paw steps, sadness shining in her bright blue eyes before being replaced by a mask of determination._

"_I promise."_

* * *

><p>"You must be very worried for your brother."<p>

I looked up from the poultice I was mixing. "Why should I be? If Runningfur dies, then that's how it is. There's no use in being worried about what might or might not happen; it'll just happen. My feelings won't change that."

My brother once told me that I should try and empathise with others more. At first I didn't understand what he meant. Why should I have been sad that our parents died in battle, or when Icekit—one of our littermates—died of greencough? Feeling sad wouldn't bring any of them back to life.

I would finally understand what he meant two seasons later, when Lionstar sent a score of our warriors, including my brother, to war.

War is PrideClan's way of life. I've lost track all the battle alliances that Lionstar forged with other Clans, only to turn around and stab our allies in the back. If I were older, maybe I'd understand why Lionstar declared war on CreekClan when one of CreekClan's elders insulted him at a Gathering, or when he once decided to invade OakClan because he fancied hunting OakClan squirrels instead of plain old PrideClan mice. But I'm just a medicine cat apprentice; I'm not supposed to understand. There's always a patient to care for in the medicine cat's den, and there's never time to waste.

"I speak to you, my Clan," Lionstar announced, "of a new dawn for all of PrideClan. NightClan have always been weak and cowardly, and so I have decided that a _stronger_Clan should take their lands and make better use of it than NightClan ever could. And so I have decided to send ten of our strongest warriors to take it from them!" Cheers erupted around us, war hungry caterwauls ringing over the entire camp.

My mentor, Featherstripe, snorted at the cacophony and padded away towards the medicine cat den, where I joined him. "Those mousebrained fools," Featherstripe swore, "can't they see that he'll be the end of PrideClan?"

"Who's 'he'?"

"Our very own Lionstar, who else?" he snapped, his long silver-white fur bristling. "And how _brave_he is, to send our warriors to die while he sits safe and warm in his den!"

At first I could only blink—but then I saw that he was waiting for an answer. What could I answer with? I didn't care about challenging Lionstar's judgment; I was just wanted to do my job as a medicine cat. Besides—all cats die in the end. Did it really matter how, or when? So I only shrugged and meowed, "He can do what he wants. He's the leader."

As if fate itself wanted to throw those words back into my face, I found Runningfur waiting for me right outside the den. Apparently Lionstar had already picked out the cats for the raiding party. I didn't understand at first, but looking at his blue eyes—eyes that only he and I share, in PrideClan—I realized what he had come here to say: He had been chosen. He was going to war.

"Good luck," I told him—which was stupid, I know that now—but it was all I could manage to say. Other cats in the camp were saying their farewells as well—but I didn't want to be like _them_, and show grief that I didn't want to feel.

"Listen, Heatherpaw. It's—it's about this whole war thing." I blinked in surprise. Runningfur had been to battle before, so he couldn't be worried about that—but why else would his eyes be flickering in hesitation like that? "Lionstar, he..."

Maybe it was my blank, uninterested expression that made his voice taper away into a whisper, and then into nothing. "Never mind. Don't worry about it." Alright—I wasn't planning on doing it, anyways. "I promise I'll be back, Heatherpaw."  
>"You don't know that," I reminded him. Mentioning Father's last words would have made it impossible to keep my composure-so I let him go, with those cold last words to accompany my brother to battle. I look back and think: How could I have been so <em>stupid?<em>

The war party left at night—a time of darkness and war. Even if it was too dark to distinguish their pelts, I could tell that my brother Runningfur was among them; all I had to look for was the telltale sign of blue. Pairs of yellow, amber, green, and gold floated by and disappeared into the night, with one that flashed sky blue. He really was going with them.

_I promise I'll be back._

Was it fear for my brother that stayed in my heart, as I watched them go? I didn't stay longer to figure it out. I had work to do.

First it was Tigerblaze and Leafclaw, limping back to camp in the dead of night, covered with more wounds than I ever saw before on a single cat's body. I let shock and apprehension flicker across my face for a heartbeat before hiding them away under the mask I always wore—the mask I needed to protect me from the world—and helped Featherstripe treat their wounds. Then we had to keep watch over them as they passed through the rest of the night in fitful sleep. Every time Leafclaw or Tigerblaze woke and twitched in pain, I had to rush to our store of herbs and relieve their agony with a dose of poppy seeds. By morning both of us were tired, but the warriors were better—much better. Taking a pause in my work, I settled down next to Leafclaw to take a quick rest.

And then Hazelheart _had_to bother me like she did.

"Where's Runningfur?" she inquired, nodding towards me as if she expected me to know or be worried about him. "I haven't seen him since the last sun."

"Go away," I sighed, pushing my ears back to block out her high pitched voice.

Hazelheart seemed to pause for a few heartbeats to think things over before she replied, "Aren't you worried about him? He _is_your brother." I didn't answer, hoping she'd go away like I asked her—but instead she pressed on. "Well, aren't you?"

"He went with the war party," I snapped impatiently. "Didn't you see him go?" Her silence was all the answer I needed. "Instead of padding after my brother who isn't here, maybe you should go do something useful-like going hunting while Runningfur and the others are fighting."

My words weren't personal because they were true. Hazelheart and a few others in PrideClan—mostly the queens—sit around bunched together, worried sick about the loved ones that have been sent to fight. But can't they see that they aren't helping anyone by doing that?

"Why are you so emotionless?" Hazelheart cried, her green eyes confused and imploring. "Don't you care about anyone other than yourself?" Hazelheart turned, her tail twitching and shoulders hunched over, and ran out of the den. I watched her go, not understanding what she wanted from me.

I returned my attention to Leafclaw, all swathed in the white of cobwebs. I hadn't planned on asking him, but I heard myself do so anyways: "Do you know if Runningfur's alright?"

"Your brother?" He stopped, twisting a little in his nest so he could see me eye to eye. "I don't really remember—it was too dark, and NightClan took us by surprise-"

"I saw him," Tigerblaze's voice rasped behind me. "He's fast—faster than those sneaky NightClan cats, at least." A hacking cough sent a tremor rippling through the entire length of his muscular body. "You're worried, aren't you?"

"I-I'm not." I wasn't sure if that was a lie. A strange emotion was twisting in my stomach as I imagined him fleeing from those flailing claws. I could see his pelt splattered with blood, blue eyes wide with fear and a strangled yowl on his tongue—

No, that was all wrong. I couldn't feel fear, ever. Fear would destroy everything—so I dispelled the images, and meowed clearly: "No, I'm not."

Tigerblaze gave a small sigh before turning over and covering his eyes with a bandaged paw, leaving me to only glare at his ragged ginger fur. _I'm not worried about him_, I retaliated silently. _I'm nothing like Hazelheart or those other stupid she-cats._

But another warning came later that day, when I heard screeches and howls in the distance while out gathering herbs. I didn't recognize the voices; all I knew was that they were in pain. Rogues, maybe? Or did the battle spread into PrideClan territory? _No use in worrying too much,_I told myself—as I did so many times before—until a shriek ripped through the forest, young and terrified. "Help me!" I could recognize that voice now—it was Sparrowpaw, one of the older apprentices who was allowed to go with the raiding party—and it sounded as if he had seen a monster. "NightClan are coming!"

By the time I finally reached camp, all of PrideClan was in an uproar. I spotted Lionstar at his customary perch atop the Highrock, yowling for order; it took several more moments for the cacophony to die down. I found my customary place next to Featherstripe and quietly asked him, "What's going on? Why was Sparrowpaw calling for help?"

"The raiding party failed," my mentor growled back. "The fool's talking of sending reinforcements."

"Sparrowpaw said NightClan are coming, though." I was talking more than usual—maybe so I could keep my mind from traitorously turning to Runningfur. Ever since Hazelheart called me 'emotionless' I had to keep making a conscious effort to stop needlessly worrying over a brother who wasn't there. "Cats will die whether we send reinforcements or not."

"So you think there's no way out? No way for PrideClan ever to find peace?"

I thought about that. "There's always a way."

"There isn't, can't you see that?" Cats around us were starting to take note of Featherstripe's agitation, and my mentor forced his hackles down so the curious gazes went elsewhere. "None of this will end until everyone—your brother, me, even you—are dead!"

_Runningfur, dead?_

"We have to do something," he went on, oblivious to the glances of the other warriors. "We have to do something now, before it gets out of hand and he kills—" Featherstripe stopped and took a deep breath. The rage slowly faded from his eyes and he turned away, white streaked pelt swishing in the slight breeze. Something was wrong.

"Featherstripe, what you you—" I didn't get far through my question before he slapped his tail across my muzzle.

The ground beneath my paws shuddered and I looked behind me. A group of warriors—ten, perhaps maybe more—were sprinting out of camp with grim looks of war plastered on their faces. Claws out and eyes cold, they ran past me and out into the darkness of whatever awaited outside the safety of camp.

I sighed and looked away. This was pointless. Why wage war some a piece of land that was worthless? Why put lives at stake for something so insignificant? And all of Featherstripe's talk of Lionstar was pointless too; what could one old medicine cat do, against a leader with nine lives and loyal followers still at his back?

Loyal. That's what our parents had been—loyal followers meekly going to war at Lionstar's command. So why wasn't Father loyal to _me_, and the promise we made? He never came back. None of them did.

Remembering our father—something I thought I had stopped doing long ago—brought up emotions that I had hidden away, emotions that I didn't want. And for the first time, I felt something stir in the depths of my heart. Someone was speaking to me—that little kit, Heatherkit, who had known so little and lost so much:

Could I be afraid?

* * *

><p>The acrid stench of blood tickled my nostrils and I yanked open my eyes to see Featherstripe dashing out of the den. When had I fallen asleep? Caring for Tigerblaze and Leafclaw must have taken its toll. I quietly followed Featherstripe out—dusk had fallen, and the camp was nearly pitch black. "What's going on?"<p>

Wordlessly, my mentor pointed with his tail at the rise in the hill—for staggering down the slope were the shredded remains of our warriors.

Instinct kicked in at the sight and I bounded forward to help, shouting orders to the apprentices emerging from the den. Featherstripe caught up to me just as we exited the camp and raced towards the group. His expression was stony and prepared for what was to come. I pitied him, because _he_was afraid-but I wasn't. No matter what was awaiting for us, I wouldn't be afraid because I promised Father—

"Hawkwing?" I recognized Wrencloud's plaintive call as the sea of broken warriors descended the slope. "Is Hawkwing safe?"

"If you're there, Hollyclaw, answer me!"

"Redfeather! You're oka-"

"Berryfang, can you hear me?"

"Please, Blackwhisker, be alright."

"Is... can you see Darkcloud?" Featherstripe whispered into my ear as we got closer to the group of disheveled warriors. Glancing around, I shook my head. His eyes darkened in anxiety, and they grimly scanned the I copied him and gulped at what I saw. Lionstar was wrong when he called our enemies weak; NightClan had been brutally thorough, and I couldn't see a single warrior who escaped their claws unscathed. "You know what we need," Featherstripe meowed, his voice devoid of its normal snappishness. "Cobwebs, marigold-we'll need all the other apprentices to help us..." I nodded and pelted away, glad to tear away from the overwhelming stench of illness mixed with blood.

It didn't take long to gather the other apprentices and show them, with a quick demonstration, how to stop the worst of a warrior's bleeding with cobwebs. It wasn't much, but it was something. All throughout our rush to save our cats' lives, I scanned the darkness for a single pair of blue eyes, fighting that insidious fear: was my brother here?

"Are you there, Foxtail?"

I tried to shut my ears to their calls, all filled with fear and dread. I didn't want to hear their pain or feel their loss; none of that mattered to me at all. _Stop it!_ I wanted to tell them. _Why tear yourselves up like this?_What use was calling a name, pretending as if they were all safe and sound? They weren't alright. I pressed more cobwebs onto a cat's flank, unable to even tell who he was-it was too dark and everything smelled like blood and death-

"Wrencloud?" yowled a voice, pure joy obscenely out of place in the scene of carnage. "I'm here, Wrencloud!" I looked up from my work, and recognized Hawktail's broad shoulders outlined in the gloom, as well as his bright yellow eyes burning with happiness. I heard Wrencloud gasp nearby, and shove past the others to reach her brother. I didn't have time to feel annoyed-that they had the gall to celebrate while everyone else was still calling names-but more voices joined the cries.

"Poppyheart, over here!" Redfeather called, his voice weak and broken-but alive.

"Honeynose! Thank StarClan, we're back!"

At that moment I wondered-if I called Runningfur's name, would he call mine in return? Or did I have to be a proper loving sister for that to work?

"Foxtail, you're alive!"

"I thought I'd never see you again, Berryfang—"

Somewhere, in that sea of voices and darkness and blood, I had stopped patching up wounds. It wasn't because we ran out of cobwebs, because everywhere I could see the outlines of Featherstripe and other apprentices handing out the spindly strands so that the worst of the wounds could be sealed. Somehow, all I wanted at that moment was to see a pair of blue eyes looking back at me.

"Runningfur! Runningfur, where are you? Runningfur!"

Everyone turned to look at me, their eyes all the colours I could imagine. But not blue—not his blue.

Something stirred in my stomach, something strange and alien to me. _No_, I told myself, _I will never break my promise. I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid._ My legs were trembling, my heart racing—but I was _not_ afraid. I was—

"Runningfur!" I felt panic consume me, and the feeling was worse than anything I could imagine. _This is why Father made me promise. Fear cuts deep._ My voice broke as I called again: "Runningfur!"

It wasn't fair. The others had their loved ones return safe and sound—but here I was, pretending to be emotionless when I wasn't. If I had loved my brother—if I had just opened up to him—would he be here now?

_Another vigil, with no body to mourn._

I had reached the edge of the sea of broken warriors. Runningfur wasn't here.

_Maybe, if I had just been a better sister—or if I had paid more attention to the world around me, instead of trying to shut it out..._

Warmth beat at my face as light emerged from the far horizon, boldly banishing the shadows with its orange glow. After a night that I thought would never end, dawn had come. For a heartbeat I was angry—because dawn had come, but Runningfur had not. I wanted to scream, to yowl to StarClan that I was sorry—sorry for being so stupid, so selfish, so _me_. And then—

"Looking for me?"

I felt my heart skip a harsh beat as the voice cut through my despair. Slowly, ever so slowly, I turned—and saw those blue, blue eyes. "I heard you calling my name," he meowed, almost amused. "I never thought I was that important to you, Heatherpaw."

Was he hurt? Where was he? Did he even understand what he made me go through, admitting that my entire life was a lie?

"Well? I told you I'd be back," Runningfur purred. "I proved the great Heatherpaw wrong, eh?"

No—my training told me that his cuts weren't serious; the blood splashed over his pale gray fur belonged to another cat. And he had come from the sea of PrideClan—probably helping the others. And yes, he did understand—because his eyes told me so.

And I didn't know what to say. Did I want to apologize to him? Should I tell him what I had been hiding all along—that I was wrong, and I loved him more than anyone else in the world?

I'm just a medicine cat apprentice. I don't understand many things—like why Lionstar sends our cats to pointless wars, or what Featherstripe meant when he says that Lionstar needs to be stopped. I still don't understand. But at that moment—looking at my brother, safe and sound, illuminated by the light of dawn—I think I finally understood _something._

I managed a weak smile, not caring how foolish I might look at this moment. Because in this finite world of life and death, he was my brother—and I was his sister.

"Welcome back."

* * *

><p><strong>Hello you. <strong>  
><strong>Next time, remind me to not pair up with Dragon if we intend on finishing something in a certain time-frame. Dude - it doesn't work. Pair procrastination with partial insomnia and a crazy grandmother and you get the work of Fayydra! (Or lack there of.)<strong>  
><strong>Well, I hope you like it. Many hours were spent pulling out hair and making frustrated sounds before being promptly silenced by the other and shouted at to write.<strong>  
><strong>You have my permission to hit me repeatedly with a frying pan if you hate it. But now, I must sleep.<strong>  
><strong>...after I potter around on youtube a bit longer. Ta-tah! And Happy Apocalyptic New Year! :D<strong>  
><strong>~Fayy* ~Celestial*<strong>

**I am not an insomniac. :I**

**Seriously, though: I'm really, really sorry that this wasn't flown off to you earlier. I mean, from the start we had a good idea as to how the story would end; the problem was getting it from Point A to Point Z without making it look rushed and overall something like horse waste. And I still don't think we chose the best path from A to Z. So if this story seems a little too rushed... please, hit me with your heaviest barrel.**

**- Dragon  
><strong>


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